wicked ways
by RattyCatty
Summary: Post season 5 finale: Regina and the Evil Queen have split, and the Queen is frustrated by Regina's inability to take what she so badly wants. This is not how Emma thought today would go. Regina/Emma/Evil Queen threesome PWP with a Swan Queen focus.


**Holy shit, this got long!**

 **This is for tumblr user pinklovelifeart, who practically gave me the entire plot and made my work a whole lot easier. Thank you! I hope this is something like what you were after~**

 **Ahead: threesomes, smut, SQ love, and some weird mix of angst and fluff (?).**

 **Warnings: Graphic smut, swearing, some mild bondage, Regina making out with her evil self, and some Hook shittiness at the very beginning for plot reasons (but feel free to skip that if it's not your cup of tea - it just sets the scene really.)  
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 **As always, feedback is super appreciated and makes me feel really good! :^)**

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They fight. It's all they do these days – fight over plans, fight over work, fight over friends – and it's usually – no, _always_ – him who initiates it. He's protective, is all – he likes spending time with her and doesn't like other people monopolising or hurting her.

He loves her. He does.

(Part of her – a part left over from the hardened bail bondsperson who had witnessed numerous cases of abuse and equal numbers of abuse victims snapping and biting back – bristles and yearns to pull away from what she knows is unhealthy. She tamps down on this, tells herself she's being over-sensitive and that she's lucky to have someone who wants her.)

All couples fight. It's natural, right?

This time, it's about how much time Emma has been spending with Regina.

Emma tells him that saving Storybrooke _again_ does actually require getting together to work through the problem and figure out a solution, but he seems to think it happens overnight.

"If you've been working together so much, why haven't you figured out how to get rid of these _evil twins_ yet?" Hook snarls, standing tensely in the middle of the bedroom. His face is growing redder by the second and his good hand forms a large fist at his sides.

"These things take time!" she cries in response from where she's perched on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the blanket tightly. "Do you think we rescued you from the _Underworld_ by sitting on our asses?"

"I think that you and that witch took your sweet time, and maybe enjoyed it a tad much," he retorts.

"What are you saying?" Her eyebrows knit together, and she's at a loss, because she really hasn't got a clue what he's hinting at.

"I'm saying that you and Regina have always been _close –"_ He spits the word, like it physically repulses him to say it. His hook is raised now, pointed angrily at her, and she's suddenly very aware of the sharpened tip that glimmers in the lamp's soft light. "And that there was a reason you took so long getting me out of that shithole. I'm saying that maybe now Robin's gone, you're taking full advantage of it."

And then Emma thinks she gets it, except that she really doesn't because it's not like that – they're not like that. Emma's not _blind,_ and Regina is definitely an attractive (gorgeous strong intelligent passionate lovable) woman, but they're just _friends._

(If it happened once in an admittedly rather enjoyable dream, he doesn't need to know.)

"We're not –" Emma shakes her head. "Regina doesn't even like women."

She's fairly sure that's true. Although, she and Maleficent are awfully familiar…

"Right," Hook growls. "And I hate rum," he retorts. "When you're done shagging the Evil Queen and lying to me about it – no, don't come and find me." He shakes his head, waving his hook about blindly. "I'll find you if I feel like it. Until then, don't expect to see me around town."

And maybe he's expecting her to beg for him to stay, for her to cry that she's sorry and that she'll spend less time with Regina, but it's one fight too many, one step too far, and she can't bring herself to say a word as he throws the door open so it hits the wall with a loud bang and then storms out.

She just sits silently, hot, angry tears welling up but not spilling over. He doesn't deserve her tears, doesn't deserve her energy after he's sapped so much of it and given her nothing in return but harsh words and tight boundaries.

A couple of too-honest evenings with Regina and her stiff cider have awakened something within her, an anger burning beneath her skin at lofty expectations and tough love, and there's no going back, no running from the dawning realisation that maybe Hook isn't the Perfect True Love™ that she'd thought he was.

There's a puff of violet smoke and the heady scent of apples, and then there's a queen standing in the doorway, tall, proud and regal. Her eyes are hard in a way that Regina's rarely are these days, but dangerously amused all the same.

Emma stands slowly, walls up in an instant, because if Regina's alter ego is here for her, it can't be for anything good.

"Trouble in paradise?" the Queen asks with a smirk playing across her red lips.

"Why do you care?" Emma grumbles, brows pulled together in a frown ever so reminiscent of her teenage years.

The Queen raises an eyebrow as if to say _touché_. She shrugs and nonchalantly says, "I have my reasons." After a pause, she elaborates. "We women have to look out for one another, after all."

And the way she says it, her sugar sweet tone and the flicker of mischief in her eyes suggests that her real reason for being here is anything _but_ girls looking out for girls. She eyes Emma curiously, like a predator studying its prey.

"Right," Emma grunts.

"I couldn't help but notice that your pirate seems rather jealous," the Queen muses. She steps closer, and the way her long dress drags over the carpet makes the smooth movement seem more like she's gliding than actually walking. "He thinks you have your eyes on another."

That fucking glint in her eye – like she knows just who this 'other' is, and knows that she can use it to her advantage.

"It's not–"

"Of course, no one would blame you," the Queen murmurs, cutting Emma off. "He does keep you on an ever so tight leash–" She pauses, lingering on the word _leash_ , curling her tongue around it and drawing it out tantalisingly. "–and a woman has needs," she purrs, only an arm's length away from Emma now.

And even in her upset state, Emma actually needs her to never talk about leashes and _needs_ in the same sentence ever again, not in that husky, sensual voice of Regina's. Not when she's within touching distance and not when her corseted dress is pushing her breasts up and together in a way that is positively criminal.

"He loves me," Emma insists emptily instead, staring pointedly at the Queen's face and no lower. "And I love him." She's going through the motions, she knows it, but the moment she opens herself up to the thought that _she deserves better_ , there's no undoing it.

The Queen sees through her façade, apparently.

"Do keep telling yourself that," she scoffs haughtily.

"He _does."_

But then she carries on again as if Emma had never opened her mouth. "One does wonder why you're even bedding him in the first place, when he treats you like nothing more than a simple bar wench."

Emma grits her teeth.

"I've seen what he packs in those flea-bitten leathers of his, and it's nothing remarkable. Not compared to what you _could_ have." Her voice morphs into something smoother, syrupy and seductive and low _._ She's inches away from Emma now, her breath warm on the sheriff's face, on her cheeks and her lips.

There's that anger again, red hot flaring up inside her, at Hook for treating her like shit, at the Queen for taking advantage of that, at herself for not realising sooner yet also for realising at all.

And something else, something confusing – anticipation warming the pit of her belly, urging her to move forward and close the distance between herself and the Queen. It's wrong, it's completely fucking _wrong,_ but there she is, all cleavage and burning eyes and that infuriating smirk, and the mix of lust and anger is intoxicating. Emma wants to _go go go_ and so –

She does – she lurches forward and crushes the Queen's painted lips with her own slightly chapped ones.

The Queen stumbles back a little with the force, tottering on too-high heels before righting herself, and Emma smirks against the Queen's mouth at the slip up. She only has a second to feel smug though, because then the Queen is kissing right back, biting her bottom lip _hard_ in retaliation and drawing a yelp from the blonde.

When they break apart a moment later, the Queen smirks. "I see why she likes you," she purrs and then her mouth is on Emma's before the blonde has a chance to question her words.

Her tongue snakes out and forces its way into Emma's mouth (not that the sheriff resists at all), tasting every inch of her mouth. Their teeth bump together a few times, but the Queen, in all her dominating glory, makes it work.

Sharp nails dig into Emma's shoulders, and the Queen pushes her down until she's sitting on the bed like she had been before, but this time, there's less shouting and the Queen's – Regina's? They're not the same person but they _do_ have the same body, right? – mouth on hers, even as she towers over her.

And ok, maybe there is Something there between she and Regina – maybe there is something (a _big_ Something) that neither of them will talk about or admit to because there's Hook and a dead thief and altogether too much shit to overcome – evil twins and expectant family and the like.

With the Queen, it's purely physical – Regina's mouth and Regina's body, all too intoxicating and irresistible – but _Regina._

They're friends. Friends who share a son and do family night once a week (for the kid) and occasionally hold hands (for magic) and have collapsed into the same bed after a night of heavy drinking (it's just convenient, right? Friends do that.).

And there was that time when…

Maybe it wouldn't be the most outlandish thing ever if they became…more.

Definitely not weirder than making out with her best friend's evil doppelganger.

When the Queen grips the blonde's chin and tilts it upwards to keep kissing her, Emma decides to give as good as she's getting, and she reaches back to the laces of the Queen's dress. It's unfamiliar to her, though, and she fumbles about for a bit before deciding to just yank at the ties and hope for the best.

To her glee, Emma does manage to loosen them a little so it sits a little crooked and a little lower than it had previously. Her fingers latch into the front of the Queen's dress, holding her close as their tongues move together.

And yeah, in hindsight, this was a terrible fucking decision for _so_ many reasons, because moments later, there's a voice coming up the stairs and the doorknob is turning.

"Emma?" the voice calls out and, oh fuck, shit, god, not _her_ , of _all_ people to walk in and see this. "Emma, Snow called me and told me what happened with–"

The door opens, and time stops for a moment as Regina fucking Mills stares at the two of them from the doorway with wide, shocked eyes.

At least there are clothes on. At least Emma hadn't succeeded with the laces. At least the Queen has stopped kissing her.

"You," Regina growls. "Get away from her."

And Emma is fully prepared for the wrath of an angry Regina, but it doesn't come.

Not for her, at least.

The Queen straightens up and turns, and Emma sees then that Regina is glaring at her evil counterpart rather than at Emma.

She thinks Emma is the victim here and that the Queen had taken advantage of her.

"Regina," the Queen drawls. "How nice of you to join us."

"What–" Regina bites out, "–are you doing." She enunciates every syllable, low and clear and deadpan and yep, she's pissed in away Emma hasn't seen her since before the split.

"I'm doing what you don't have the balls to do, dear," the Queen answers shamelessly, doing something similar to puffing up her feathers. "I'm taking what's mine."

"She's not ours," the mayor grits out.

The Queen smirks again. "No? But she certainly wasn't complaining when she had her tongue in my mouth."

Emma blushes as Regina's gaze turns finally settles on her.

"Our dear _saviour_ isn't as pure as one might think," the Queen says.

Those perfect brows pull into a confused and slightly pained frown. "Emma?"

"She's telling the truth," Emma admits weakly. "I – started it."

Something flashes in Regina's eyes, soft and hurt, but it's gone almost as soon as it appears, replaced by – not anger, but irritation. "With _her?"_

There are words unsaid – "Instead of me," or something of the like – but Emma can't be sure she's not projecting her apparent desire to kiss Regina, so she says nothing about it.

"What were you thinking?" Regina asks.

"I wasn't," Emma says tentatively.

The brunette huffs. "No, you never do." It's sharp and hurt, but lacks the venom of an actual insult.

The Queen jumps in then, announcing her presence once more to the women who have been talking over her like she's not in the room at all. "Would you skip the foreplay and get on with the main act?" she demands. "God knows you've done enough of it over the last – however long you've been dancing around _this_." She gestures at the two of them vaguely when her lips curl around the last word.

Regina and Emma turn to face her at the same time, perfectly in sync, with matching looks of surprise on their faces.

For a moment, the Queen just looks back and forth between the two of them, watching their mirrored expressions – wide eyes and lips forming perfect 'O' shapes. She rolls her eyes. "Oh, for goodness' sake – don't act so surprised," she huffs. "Everyone knows you're just dying to jump into bed together."

Emma blushes again and stares at the carpet for a long moment, trying her very best to ignore Regina's presence. Maybe if she stares at the floor hard enough, she'll get lucky and it will open up and swallow her whole.

It wouldn't be the weirdest thing to happen today.

Regina cocks her head and frowns. "We're not – I don't –"

The Queen steps away from Emma, then, and slinks towards Regina until they're nose to nose. The sight is more than a little odd but something inside Emma lights up all the same.

"You forget, dear – I am you – I've been inside your head," she murmurs slyly. "I know what you feel for the saviour and I know that it's far from pure."

Regina's red lips part, but no words come out. She searches for a witty retort, but for once, she comes up empty. Her sarcasm has gone down a few notches since the split, and she wishes it was on top form now, because she's guilty as charged.

Caught red-handed.

Emma watches the mayor with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Is she telling the truth?" she breathes, because maybe she does feel something for Regina, but she'd never dreamt that the feeling would be mutual.

Sighing, Regina visibly deflates.

Fuck.

She can't lie to Emma about this, as much as she might want to to protect her own heart – not now when Emma is so down on herself, not when Emma already knows the truth.

The sheriff is watching her with those melty puppy eyes of hers, and the tension is almost tangible as Emma waits for an answer.

Nearly unnoticeable, Regina nods her head once. The former queen looks unwell, as if she thinks this admission will ruin the close friendship they've built together over the last few years. Her eyes are liquid, deep and emotive and glistening.

Emma crosses the room in a few steps, only stopping when her face is an inch away from Regina's.

They've done _this_ before, way back when Regina had been the closed-off mayor with a rapidly loosening grip on her son, and invasion of personal space had been an aggressive tactic. They're not those people anymore, though, and the only motive this time is emotionally closeness.

Regina's breath hitches in her throat.

"You didn't think to tell me?" Emma asks softly.

It's possibly the last thing she expects Emma to say, and whilst her heart jumps in her chest, invigorated with hope, she frowns in confusion. "You have Hook," she replies. Hook, the boyfriend they went all the way to the Underworld to save because _Emma wanted it,_ the man who Emma had seemed so sure that he was her true love.

A sorrowful look crosses Emma's face. "Yeah, look how well that's turning out," she sighs. So much work, so much heartbreak, and for what? Fights and low self-esteem and a front of happiness? She's spent so long looking for someone who loves her for what she is, someone who makes her feel safe, and maybe they've been right under her nose the whole time. "I haven't had much luck in relationships in my life – you know that. But I think – that maybe it's you I want," the blonde confesses.

Regina exhales slowly, her eyes wet and shining. "Emma, if you're saying this just because _she's–"_

"I'm not," Emma promises before Regina can even finish her sentence. "I promise you, I'm not." And then, cupping Regina's face with her hands, she leans in slowly, giving Regina ample amount of time to back away if she wishes. The older woman doesn't move, though – just glances down at Emma's lips and tilts her head to make the angle work.

Gently, ever so gently, Emma's lips press against hers. It's chaste and sweet and completely different to the almost animalistic want that she'd kissed the Queen with, and Regina pulls her mouth away after a second to take a breath and gather herself because _holy shit_. Their foreheads rest against one another, and then their mouths are coming together once more.

Emma is careful not to push, careful not to be too aggressive in her ministrations when Regina is so emotional and tentative and this is all so new, but then Regina is the one running her tongue over Emma's lower lip, asking for entrance as her hands begin to roam.

The blonde opens her mouth, and she's powerless to stop her moan when the edge of Regina's tongue brushes against hers, warm and teasing. The mayor's hands are wandering, trailing down her neck and coasting down her sides to sneak below the hem of her sweater, and oh god, she's kissing Regina Mills – _Regina Mills_ has her hands under her fucking sweater.

Deciding that two can play at the game, Emma drops her hands down to palm Regina's ass through her dress. She squeezes lightly, and Regina makes a small, lustful sound in the back of her throat. It sends shocks of desire to between Emma's thighs, and she presses them together to ease the tension.

The Queen clears her throat loudly from beside them, reminding them of her presence.

Emma and Regina break apart more than a little reluctantly, eyeing one another even as the Queen glares at them.

And if Emma had thought the day couldn't get weirder, she was wrong.

She should know better than to think such things in Storybrooke by now – it just jinxes it.

The Queen turns to Regina and slinks closer until their bodies are pressed together and they're breathing the same oxygen. Then, slowly, she leans in, and her parted red lips collide with Regina's and oh fuck, _oh fuck,_ they're kissing.

It's the biggest mind fuck and Emma wonders if it's classed as gay or masturbation, but either way, it makes throbbing warmth pool in the blonde's underwear.

Regina doesn't move for a few seconds, doesn't respond to the lips on hers, but when she does finally decide to rise to the challenge, she does it whole-heartedly.

They kiss slowly, sensually, and when they break apart for a moment to breathe or change the angle, Emma catches a glimpse of tongue.

God, she hopes Snow isn't home right now.

She really needs to get her own place.

The Queen leads, pushing her tongue into Regina's open mouth and _taking_ whilst Regina struggles to wrap her head around the weirdness of it. Physically, it's not completely unpleasant – she knows she looks good, and she'd honed her sexual prowess to a T in order to exercise power over people as the Queen. Still, it's beyond bizarre, and she'd much rather be kissing Emma.

When the Queen pulls away, her eyes are lit up devilishly, and as Regina watches the Queen drink in Emma's appearance, she thinks she knows what's about to unfold.

"Emma," Regina warns. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. I know my…other half is rather pig-headed, but you don't have to give in to her."

Emma nods. "I know." She cocks her head. She's missed something here, though she has a vague idea. "But wh–"

"A threesome, saviour," the Queen purrs. "How about it?"

Emma nods, a little in awe. "Ok," Emma breathes, her mouth dry.

Regina's eyes darken impossibly, and then she's leaning in again, kissing Emma passionately and pushing the dark sweater up her torso. They only separate long enough for the item of clothing to be removed.

And Emma really regrets not wearing a bra today – she'd spent the day in and her sweater concealed it anyway – because the way Regina is kissing her has her nipples hardening already.

"Expecting something, sheriff?" the brunette teases, getting an incoherent mumble that sounds something like _shut up_ in response. Regina smirks against her and reaches up to brush her fingertips over the dusky nubs, toying with them idly in a way that makes Emma exhale and arch into the touch.

A moment later, Emma is reaching round to fumble for the zipper of Regina's dress. When she finds it, she promptly pulls it down all the way until the fabric separates and the blonde can slip a hand beneath to stroke soft skin and the sharp lines of Regina's back. "I want to see you," she murmurs somewhat desperately against Regina's soft lips.

The brunette pulls back and takes a step away from Emma, who protests quietly at the loss of contact. She wonders maybe if she's gone too far to quick, but then Regina is slipping out of her dress, pushing it down her body until it pools around her feet and then stepping out of it, and Emma shuts up, instead eyeing the other woman hungrily.

She's faced with smooth, glowing olive skin and black lace that hugs her curves perfectly and, oh god, Emma's out of her depth here, in her cotton boy shorts and old jeans that are on their third day of being worn. She's about to sleep with an actual goddess and her evil double and she can't even remember to shave her legs most of the time.

Before her thoughts of inadequacy can start crashing down on her and breaking her down, Regina is moving forward again, kicking her heels off and taking Emma in her arms once more. She kisses like her life depends on it, like Emma is her life force.

Almost lazily, Regina's hand slips lower to the button of Emma's jeans. She has it open in a second, flicking the button through the hole with one skilled hand, and then her fingertips trail teasingly over the waistband of light blue underwear before returning to the denim. "Take these off," she murmurs, and Emma eagerly obeys.

The Queen watches lustily as tight denim is shed, and then she's the one moving forward, slinking like a fucking cat and coming between Regina and Emma. She seems to _inhale_ Emma's scent before she dips her head to nip at her earlobe, which, ok, kind of weird, but Emma wasn't expecting vanilla from the Queen in the first place, and it's still hot.

Regina watches for a moment, and then moves behind the Queen to start on the laces of her dress, because if they're doing this, it's gonna be on even ground.

They're loose already, like Emma had a go at them earlier, and Regina sets to work with practiced hands.

Scraping scarlet nails over Emma's bare skin and leaving raised pink lines in her wake, the Queen pinches one hard nipple. Emma whimpers, and then yelps when the Queen twists. "Ow," she protests half-heartedly. "Y'know, this is good, but I'd really like to keep all my bits."

The Queen sneers at her, but she's too amused for it to last more than a few seconds, and then it morphs into a cruel smirk. "Oh, there's an idea," she purrs. She's joking – mostly.

"Don't even think about it," Regina snaps from behind her, tugging sharply at the laces in a way that knocks the breath from the Queen's lungs.

An actual growl rumbles in the Queen's chest in response to the rough treatment from her weaker counterpart. "Enough of this," she barks. With a wave of her hand, she makes her own dress and underclothes vanish, leaving her naked, and with another, makes the other women's underwear disappear too.

The Queen turns to face her double. "I'm having my way with the saviour, _Regina,"_ – the Queen says the name as if it disgusts her – "And you're going to watch until I say you can join in."

"Is that so?" Regina challenges, her teeth bared and a smile playing at the corners of her mouth but never breaking out. She leans in ever so slightly, and Emma recognises this from when Regina and Zelena had come to blows in the main square shortly after the missing year. It's confrontational, the tension – sexual or purely violent, Emma can't quite tell which – tangible in the air, and if one of them was to pull a punch, it wouldn't be terribly shocking.

The mayor circles the Queen until she's next to Emma, and then one arm curls around the blonde's waist. Regina pulls Emma's body flush against her own and _oh –_ her very naked body pressed against Regina's very naked body – hips bumping against one another, their stomachs touching, and soft breasts brushing together lightly –

Emma's not quite sure how she didn't notice sooner how head over heels she is for Regina – wonders how much of this – _boob contact_ – there could have been if she'd realised before.

No use crying over spilt milk, though, right? Or something.

Not when _this_ is happening now.

Every one of Emma's nerve endings are alight and she's painfully aware of how slick and aching she is between her thighs and then Regina's kissing her again, soft and sensual. Regina lingers at her lips for a moment before lowering them, pressing her open mouth gently against Emma's jaw and then her neck, and then –

Then it's _not_ happening now, because suddenly there's magic forcing Regina back and magic restraints curling around her slim wrists, tying her to the bed posts.

"If you can't keep your hands to yourself, I'll just have to make you," the Queen says smugly.

Regina – Regina with the worst of herself removed, Regina who has been calmer and tamer recently than Emma has ever seen her before – actually growls as she leans forward and tugs against her bindings. " _Bastard_."

She tries with her magic, but the Evil Queen is nothing but thorough in her methods, and these restraints aren't budging anytime soon.

Maybe – if she just – works away at it with her own magic –

It's gonna take some time.

The Queen just grins and pushes Emma down onto the bed. With Emma on her back, the Queen pushes her knees apart to make space for herself. There are teeth on Emma's neck, light and scraping at first and then hard and stinging, biting where Regina had been kissing. Emma squirms a little before shutting her eyes and tilting her head back to expose more of her throat.

And there's a little thrill of danger, because Emma wouldn't put it past Regina's evil self to try to crush her windpipe or tear her fucking throat out. There's something about the little surge of fear she feels each time the edges of the Queen's teeth graze the thin, delicate skin of her throat that makes this so intoxicating.

Nails run over her skin again, down her chest and over a nipple. The Queen pinches it as she had before and rolls it between her fingers, drinking in the way Emma arches into her. As the sheriff's body presses up into her own, the woman feels wet warmth against her abdomen, and she smirks.

The Queen rocks her hips almost imperceptibly against Emma's centre. The blonde exhales sharply and pushes back, needy, and then one delicate hand is slipping between their bodies, down into blonde curls.

One finger ghosts over her sex, feather light and teasing, and the woman above her hums in approval. "Someone's excited," the Queen purrs, drawing back enough to look Emma in the eye.

"Fuck me," Emma growls, bucking her hips.

"My, my," the Queen says with that shit-eating grin. "Giving orders now?" Still, she runs her fingers over Emma, dragging through wetness to circle her clit.

Emma sucks in a breath and bites her lip. The Queen's fingers are skilled and each move is calculated, perfectly placed to make Emma whimper just the way she wants, and it's already driving Emma mad.

Regina swallows as she watches. Her mouth is suddenly very dry and – other areas are _not_ quite so. She can't see what her other self is actually doing, but she can see her hand moving between Emma's thighs, and the way Emma responds to each touch, and she has to squeeze her thighs together to ease the ache between them.

Because Emma is gorgeous, all pale skin and soft hair, and for all their differences, the Queen still looks like her – still has her face and some of the same mannerisms. It's easy to imagine that _she's_ the one touching Emma, making her writhe and whimper, making her ribs rise and fall beneath her skin with every laboured breath.

And then the Queen pushes one finger inside Emma, testing the waters, and Emma gasps at the intrusion before groaning in pleasure. The brunette starts moving ever so slowly in and out, in a way that's more like a massage than getting fucked. "More," she pleads on her next exhale.

The Queen ignores her. Still moving her fingers, she takes one nipple in her mouth into her mouth, and the way her tongue swirls over the tip must be illegal. She takes it between her teeth, then – and ok, Regina's apparently got one hell of a biting kink, but Emma can work with that – and bites, and electric shoots through Emma's body, down to her core.

Another finger joins the first in its movements, and – christ.

Emma forces her eyes open for a moment to glance at Regina. The woman's eyes are impossibly dark and it doesn't go unnoticed the way her thighs are clenched and the way her nipples are pebbled. Her chest rises and falls quicker than it usually would, and when their eyes meet, the air becomes charged.

The distraction isn't helping Regina get free, that's for sure, but she drinks in the way Emma eyes her all the same.

 _You ok?_ Emma mouths when she manages to get a hold of herself for a second, and Regina nods.

As if sensing she doesn't hold all the saviour's attention, the Queen glares up at the woman, and then she's pulling out and moving down Emma's body. She only stops when she's between strong thighs, and her nails dig into pale skin as she grips Emma's legs.

Her mouth is warm on Emma's skin, licking and sucking persistently, and right, of course the Queen would want to leave marks.

Emma's fingers tangle in dark hair, and she takes great pleasure in upsetting that perfect, regal up-do. Not that she's got much time to think about it, because the Queen's mouth settles over her sex, hot and skilled and _oh fuck –_

The Queen's tongue is on her clit, teasing and positively sinful, and all Emma can wonder is where the hell did a queen in the goddamn Enchanted Forestlearn to do _that?_

She's moaning, loud and languid, her hips bucking, and then the Queen is joining her with a low, rumbling, satisfied hum.

"You taste _immensely_ good," she murmurs, pulling away for a moment. She looks at Regina, eyes glinting dangerously. "I wish you could taste her, Regina."

She's making a show of it, gloating at her tied-up counterpart, and doing rather well.

Regina whimpers longingly, once again pulling at her restraints ineffectively. Her lips part as she leans forward as much as the bindings allow. God, she _really_ needs to get on undoing this spell because this is torture, watching but never getting to take part.

She allows herself a moment to rub her slick inner thighs together, but it doesn't do much more than work her up further, so she swiftly abandons that and instead works harder at her bindings.

The Queen's lips curl into a cruel smile, and then she dips down again to continue her mission of making the saviour fall apart beneath her tongue.

Her fingers are pushing back inside the blonde, their rhythm faster now, and after that, it really doesn't take long. Emma's hips are meeting every thrust with equal force, breathy mumbles of 'yes' and 'fuck' rolling endlessly off her tongue, and the Queen's tongue is working between her folds, practiced and just right and –

Emma forces her eyes open so she can meet Regina's just before she comes.

For all Regina's expensive, form-fitting clothes, and pristine make-up, she's never looked quite as beautiful as she does now, with flushed cheeks, mussed hair, and worn lipstick; her cheeks are flushed pink, her hair mussed and her lipstick worn away slightly.

Regina's fists are clenched and shaking with desire and – something else? There's a desperate, yearning look in her eyes, followed by a flash of determination, and then there's a crack and a fizz, like an electric power cable snapping and sparking out.

The mayor's hands are free, and she moves towards Emma. She hovers over the blonde – straddles her waist and _holy fuck_ Emma can feel her wet heat on her stomach and it's just one more thing driving her crazy. One hand cups her cheek and then Regina brings their lips together, needy and passionate.

And then Emma's coming, the tension coiled in her abdomen exploding like fireworks, the tingles of her orgasm reaching her toes and fingers. Her body tenses, only her hips moving as she rides out her orgasm, and the feeling is intensified by Regina's lips on hers. Regina tastes a little of the magic she'd presumably just used to break her magic restraints, and Emma drinks it in hungrily, moaning into Regina's mouth.

Her back arches, her body pressing up into Regina, and Regina makes this sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as toned stomach muscles meet her sex.

Finally, Emma's body relaxes and she slumps down onto the bed, breathing heavily. She allows herself a moment just to _bask_ because the Queen is still between her thighs, cleaning up with her tongue, and Regina is straddling her waist, and she'd never even dreamed this could happen.

But it _is_ and she's hyper-aware of the mayor's arousal on her stomach.

The Queen sits up and makes a show of licking her lips, and Emma pushes herself up on shaking arms, prompting Regina to shift back a little until she's in Emma's lap.

Strong arms snake around Regina's waist and draw her closer, and then she and Emma are nose to nose.

Emma's faced with dark, wide eyes and the way Regina's lips part slightly in anticipation. She can feel the Queen's eyes on them as she kneels up behind her counterpart.

"This is weird," Emma whispers, and Regina chuckles, her warm breath puffing over Emma's lips.

"I'm well aware, dear." She reaches out and pushes a stray blonde hair back into place.

"But _hot,"_ the sheriff admits with a crooked grin.

Regina's lips curl up into an answering smile. "That it is." She shifts, and her heat brushes against Emma's pelvis.

And the tone shifts again, away from the brief light playfulness and back into charged sexual tension.

"You think so too," Emma murmurs, and slips one hand down Regina's stomach and between her thighs. What she finds is copious wetness, more than Emma would have thought possible, slick and warm. She runs her fingers through Regina's folds, and the other woman exhales shakily.

" _Emma,"_ she breathes, grinding down into the touch and dipping her head forward, closer to Emma's lips.

The sheriff meets her, leaning in and bumping their foreheads together. Their lips brush slowly together, lips parted and relaxed. Regina's tongue laps lightly at pink lips, and then it descends into something heavier.

Two fingers circle her clit and her hips buck involuntarily. Regina exhales sharply against Emma's lips and shifts her position again until she's kneeling up and moving her hips is easier.

"Yes," she whispers as Emma's fingers continue to move almost lazily and her hips begin to rock. They settle into a rhythm, and Emma looks on in awe as Regina rides her fingers.

Her head is tipped back a little, her lips parted (though every now and then she bites her lower lip and _that's_ just as good) and her hips undulating. Each roll of Regina's hips is accompanied by a delicious tensing of the muscles in her stomach, and the amount of arousal on Emma's fingers just keeps increasing.

Holy fuck.

She's definitely dead. She's dead and this is heaven. Weird, mind-fuck, X-rated heaven.

"Inside," Regina gasps, and Emma is happy to oblige. One finger traces Regina's entrance for a moment, circling the sensitive walls and dipping just the very tip inside. And then she's pushing all the way inside and easing back out to add a second finger.

Regina bears down and drops her head down on Emma's shoulder. She groans, low and long and gravelly and so completely _Regina_ that Emma loses her breath.

As if sensing an opening for herself, the Queen moves forward again until her front is pressed flush against Regina's back. She reaches around to Regina's front and, whilst Emma keeps thrusting inside Regina (with three fingers now), picks up the slack by rubbing the brunette's clit.

And there are apparently massive advantages to fucking, well, yourself, because the Queen knows exactly how to touch Regina, knows exactly what Regina likes and doesn't like. She knows what will work Regina up to breaking point, and she knows what will have her over that edge in a heartbeat.

She knows that when she pinches Regina's clit, Regina will moan languidly and increase her pace.

She knows her own kinks, and she knows that Regina gets off on the way the Queen grasps her chin with firm fingers and turns her head to the side to kiss her hard.

"You didn't do what I told you to," the Queen growls into her ear when they part. The hand on Regina's chin reaches down to tweak a nipple more roughly than is completely necessary. "You disobeyed me and freed yourself."

Regina bites back a yelp at the rough treatment and bears down faster and harder. "I don't answer to you," she grits out, gasping.

The Queen curls her lip but doesn't say anything more. She just rubs Regina's clit with more intensity until it's almost painful from the over-sensitivity.

They like that, though, the Queen knows, and she's going to make Regina come at her hand. She's going to _break_ her.

Pleasure coils in Regina's abdomen, aching and delicious. It expands and grows and tightens impossibly until one hand is behind her, fisted in the Queen's hair, and the other is gripping the back of Emma's neck. She writhes, leaning back into the Queen whilst her hips follow Emma's fingers all the time at an ever faster pace.

Her head falls back against the Queen's shoulder, and the Queen takes the opportunity to bite down carelessly on the soft skin of her throat, drawing a wordless shout of mixed pleasure and pain.

Emma curls her fingers inside Regina, spreads them as wide as she can, and the delicious stretch is the final straw. With a loud, broken cry, Regina comes hard. Her body stills and her thighs shake, and then she's _gushing_ and she'd feel embarrassed if she wasn't so far gone. Her release soaks the sheets and the insides of her thighs, coats Emma and the Queen's hands, and there's a low, rumbling chuckle in her ear.

Breathless and spent, she goes limp against the Queen and just rests there for a moment. It's a little like putting your head in a lion's mouth and hoping it chooses not to bite, but Regina's too finished to do much else right now. One hand – the Queen's – comes up to her mouth, and there are damp fingers in her mouth and the tang of her own essence on her tongue.

"Now look," the Queen jibes, enjoying it all entirely too much. "The good sheriff is going to have to change the sheets."

Regina can _hear_ that stupid smug smirk, and it stirs her up again. "Shut up," she grumbles. "You knew." It's certainly not the first time she's done…that. She promptly shifts so she's more in Emma's arms than the Queen's. She kisses the sheriff gently, her hands cupping her face.

"It was hot," Emma promises when they part. " _You're_ hot."

The brunette smiles and presses another chaste kiss to the blonde's mouth.

Behind them, the Queen makes a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. When Regina turns to look, she's moving away and standing up, her lip curling. The atmosphere chills in a heartbeat.

"You don't want the favour returned?" Regina asks suspiciously, frowning, because the Queen _never_ gives without taking in equal amount – or more.

The Queen sneers. "Do you think I need two simpering lovers to fuck one another while they try to fuck me?" Even now, naked and with sticky trails of arousal on her skin and her dark hair tumbling messily down her back (thoroughly ruined), she manages to be regal and intimidating. "I just wanted to have your Saviour for myself and make her _bend."_

Emma squirms, and her fingers tangle with Regina's over the brunette's bare knee.

"Of course you did," Regina says flatly. Giving Emma's hand a light squeeze, she moves out of her lap and stands until she's a foot away from the Queen. "You know, one day you'll learn that no one will love you if you refuse to love in return."

"And become weak like you? A foolish shadow of myself, destroying myself for people who don't deserve me?" the Queen growls. "Love is weakness, or have you forgotten?"

Regina shakes her head sadly. "Mother was wrong and you know it. Love is strength, and Emma – Henry – _all_ of them – are far morethan either of us deserve," Regina says earnestly, something like regret and understanding in her eyes.

Because the Queen – herself from all those years ago when she'd been so sad and alone and angry – is still raw and hurt, even after the four or so decades that have passed. Under all the silk and lace, under all the biting words and violence and hunger for power, she's a mangled woman who thirsts for love and inner strength but goes about it in all the wrong ways.

Regina remembers – _vividly –_ what it had been like to be that person, and as much as she _loathes_ this version of herself, she also understands.

She wonders if maybe, one day, the Queen will come round and try to do good, and this whole thing can be over without any more bloodshed.

Maybe.

For now, though, the Queen just snarls. "You're _wrong."_ With a wave of her hand, she vanishes from the room in a cloud of purple smoke. When the smoke clears, she and Emma are alone, and there's not even a trace of evidence that the Queen had ever been here at all.

Regina exhales slowly and allows her shoulders to slump.

"Hey," Emma says softly. She reaches out and brushes Regina's lower back with the tips of her fingers. It has the desired effect, and Regina turns and steps closer. Their fingers entwine once more, and suddenly all that defiant strength drains from Regina's body. Her eyes are shadowed, filled with ghosts, and she folds herself next to Emma in the mess of sheets.

"Talk to me," Emma murmurs, her thumb rubbing gently over Regina's knuckles.

Regina shakes her head and pulls her lower lip into her mouth. She refuses to meet Emma's eyes. "Sorry about – that and…her _,"_ she says quietly. "She just wants to break everything and everyone good."

"Don't be," Emma replies softly. "She didn't break either of us," she soothes. "We're both still here, together."

Regina squeezes Emma's hand and gives her a small smile before becoming pensive again. "You wanna know why I was so annoyed when I saw her with you?" she asks.

Emma nods. "Go on," she prompts, and when Regina looks at her, all there is is concern free from judgement.

"She doesn't value anything other than power," Regina answers flatly. "If she was agreeing to be with you, she was doing it for her own selfish desires – to exercise control over you." She pauses, remembering _I just wanted to make her bend_ and remembering a dead sheriff who never fails to make her feel sick to her stomach with guilt. "I couldn't let her do that. You're too…" Regina doesn't finish her sentence, but she gives Emma this look – all dark, turbulent, _loving_ eyes – and it says everything.

 _You're too important._

Emma swallows, feeling a little overwhelmed by the raw emotion. They're friends – _good_ friends – but she had no idea Regina felt so strongly about her and them.

She shifts closer until their knees and shoulders are touching, her hand tightening around Regina's.

"And then _you_ ," Regina continues, her voice lighter, a little strained. She carefully keeps her eyes on the far wall. "You said you initiated it and I felt so – betrayed." She frowns. " _Envious."_ She risks another cautious look at Emma.

"I'm sorry," Emma breathes, the air catching in her throat.

Regina shakes her head. "Don't be," she says, softer and quieter – understanding. "We're here now and she's not." She bumps Emma's shoulder lightly with her own to relieve some of the tension in the room.

Emma's lips curl into a slight smile.

"I couldn't believe that after all the time we've spent together, you'd choose _her,"_ Regina tells her. "That if you'd brush Hook off for anyone it would be for her – after everything we've been through together." Their hands are still joined, and any hurt the words might cause is offset.

"I didn't realise before," Emma whispers. "She just happened to – _be there_ when I did and–"

She cuts herself off before she can start babbling and digging herself into a hole, and Regina just takes in her words – doesn't try to argue like she might have before, when she still had the Queen inside her.

With a soft smile, Regina says quietly, "The Queen hurts and destroys and never apologises for any of it. She doesn't deserve to win. She doesn't deserve anything good. She doesn't deserve _you."_

Regina doesn't especially think she herself deserves anything of the like either, but her family – this odd, unlikely group of friends – continuously tells her otherwise, and she's not about to turn such love away. As selfish as it may be (definitely is, she thinks) she's going to hold onto all these bizarre, idiotic people who refuse to leave her after everything.

She's going to protect them if it's the last thing she does.

"She doesn't have me," Emma reassures. "You have me now," she promises, bringing their joined hands up. "And you have Henry, and my parents, and we're never letting you go."

"You're starting to sound like your mother, dear," Regina teases, but her eyes are wet as she leans in to kiss Emma with all the love inside her.

"Shut up, I am _not_ ," Emma retorts mirthfully when they part.

And this is them, Emma thinks – this playful teasing and jibing at one another. It's easy and natural and _good._

"Oh!" Emma says suddenly, remembering her strange earlier conversation with the Queen. "The Evil Queen said something about the size of Hook's – _endowment_ earlier," she jests with a crooked grin. "Something you wanna tell me?"

Regina winces, and Emma thinks she looks a little green. "Everyone's had a go on him," the brunette answers dismissively with a wave of her hand. "It certainly wasn't the most exciting three minutes of my life."

Emma snorts. "Lovely."

"Remind me why we're talking about that unwashed fool when we could be doing far more _enjoyable_ things?" Regina asks, removing her hand from Emma's to trail her fingers up Emma's thigh instead.

The blonde shudders at Regina's touch and promptly drops the subject. "How can you be ready to go again already?" she asks absently, fidgeting in anticipation. It can't have been more than ten minutes since Regina's fucking earthquake of an orgasm.

"I have many skills and traits you don't know about, dear," Regina purrs, pulling the blonde into her lap. "Would you care to find out?"

Emma groans and drops her head to kiss Regina. "God, yes," she growls, rocking her hips towards Regina and gasping when the other woman drops her hand to meet the movement.

And this day has been the _weirdest fucking day of Emma's life,_ she's sure of it, but as Regina's tongue enters her mouth and her fingers move between her thighs, she can't bring herself to regret a single second of it.


End file.
